If You Prick Me, Do I Not Bleed? -The Toast

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351-O Mercador de VenezaIf you prick me, do I not bleed?

If I use the wrong shampoo, does not my hair become limp and fail to curl under just so?

If you get your dirty fingers all over the Greek yogurt which I have clearly labeled as mine, do I not leave passive-aggressive notes upon the refrigerator?

When these instructive missives go unnoticed, does not your wastebin get set on fire?

If I shave my bikini line, do I not need a soothing aftershave balm of lidocaine?

If I eat an everything bagel, do the poppyseeds not stick between my teeth? No, the other side — right, no, try again, yeah. It’s gone.

If my neighbor drives illegally on the shoulder in an effort to avoid a traffic jam, do I not cheer on the lawbringers who issue unto them citatons?

If I must park beneath yon silver maple, do I not curse the birds which will inevitably shit upon my Jetta?

When corporate mandates the wearing of button-down shirts for all minions, does mine not gap between the bookends? So to speak?

When o.b. shortages plague the nation, do I not speak overloud about my deep concern regarding the environmental impact of plastic applicators?

When persecuted by human resources, do I not drive to Little T’s for nachos and bust out my iPad and post angry epistles upon Tumblr?

When the slings and arrows of rent are impending next week, and the lawbringers have enjoined me not to leave town, do I not get fucked-up on mid-day margaritas and book a flight to Vegas?

If my roommate balk at the prospect of tending the plants for a few days, do I not quietly remind her that I got them from her petty criminal cousin, after all?

If she continue her little whine and moan, do I not pinch her arm and tell her I’m not going to jail alone? Because you’re part of this, aren’t you, Madison?

If TSA attempt to stop me at the airport over a little folding knife which was a gift from my father, who is very important, do I not flip a table?

If you cuff me, do I not writhe and scream?

If you wrong me, shall I not have revenge?

Jen Melchert is a student and freelance literary assistant based in Jersey City. She reads, writes, tweets, and travels.

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